


i’m gone

by kineticstars



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Spencer Reid, Canon Typical Crime Scene descriptions, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Like in the show, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relapse, Season/Series 13, You Have Been Warned, not explicitly but he is, post prison reid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kineticstars/pseuds/kineticstars
Summary: About two weeks into his mandated vacation time, the stress (or post traumatic stress, as Luke called it) became too much, so he turned to the only reliable stress reliever he knew of.Spencer struggles post-prison and starts using again.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was incredibly disappointed by the lack of anything regarding Reid’s time in prison in season 13 (or anything about his mother???) so I took matters into my own hands :) 
> 
> This will be several chapters long although I’m not sure how many yet.

_Blackness._

_Then a spotlight on a small stage, drawing attention to the man at the center._

_Spencer Reid, wearing an expensive looking tuxedo. His wavy brown hair falls just below the nape of his neck, brushed back so it’s not in his face. He squints in the bright light shining on him. Despite this, he can’t see his surroundings, save for a small card table with three shiny purple boxes in front of him. The auditorium ahead is pitch black._

_Gradually, smaller spotlights appear over six different seats, all next to each other in the audience, revealing six people bound and gagged._

_“Chose which one of them should die.”_

_Spencer flinches at the sound of the booming voice and watches as one purple box collapses, revealing a silver gun—a revolver. Spencer picks up the gun, testing it’s weight in his hands before setting it back down. He takes a step back._

_“No,” he says, but his mouth isn’t open. His voice echoes around the space and in his head._

_“Choose one to die,” the voice commands again. When Spencer says nothing, the gun hovers off the table and positions itself in front of a dark haired man in the audience. The light above him goes out and Spencer hears a click._

_“Wait, no! Please...” Spencer pleads, still without actually speaking. “Kill me instead,” he says._

_The spotlight over the dark haired man returns. He’s still bound but alive, a terrified look playing at his stoic face. The gun floats back to the table and rests in front of Spencer. It disappears, and so does the box it was in._

_“Choose one.”_

_The remaining two boxes fade in and out to draw Spencer’s attention to them. He glances up. The audience is watching intently. His hand hovers over the leftmost box. “This one.”_

_The other box fades away and so does the audience._

_Spencer picks up the small box and slowly takes off the top. Two glass vials are inside._

_“I don’t want it,” he says. The words sound like a distant memory._

_“It helps, I promise,” another voice says, almost like the commanding voice but kinder._

_He closes his eyes and pulls out a vial, rolling it between his fingers._

_Suddenly he feels pressure further up his arm and sees a tourniquet tied below his elbow. Spencer winces asan invisible needle pierces his skin. The edges of his vision become hazy, and he stumbles backward, tripping awkwardly over his feet and falling. Spencer can’t move and can barely see. He panics for a moment until his field of vision becomes smaller and smaller and his thoughts muddled. He can feel himself drifting off and beginning to dream._

Spencer wakes up in a cold sweat, chest heaving as he tries to control his breathing. He fumbles for the notebook he keeps under his pillow, struggling to open the small book as his hands tremble. He rationalized that if he wrote down the dreams, they’d stop happening. That wasn’t proving true.

_The dream changed_ , he writes, at a loss for what else to say. The previous nightmares had been about prison. He’d find himself in a cell, surrounded by faceless people, his team members watching as he was stripped naked and stabbed to death.

This one was different. It was his subconscious telling him that he was killing himself.

It wasn’t like Spencer didn’t know that. He knew that when he found himself taking Dilaudid again. But unlike in the dream, it was his choice. He knew what he was doing. When work wasn’t a big enough distraction from his problems, getting high was.

The flashbacks were the worst part. A door closing too loudly sent him back to prison with a cell clanging shut behind him. Images cycling through his mind like photographs every time he closed his eyes. He’d panic. He was trapped. Not just trapped in past memories but trapped with the feelings those memories brought: near-constant anxiety, anger, and fear.

About two weeks into his mandated vacation time, the stress (or post traumatic stress, as Luke called it) became too much, so he turned to the only reliable stress reliever he knew of.

It could turn any moment into a pleasant one.

All the unresolved trauma and panic and anger seething under his skin would drift away.

He didn’t want to stop this time. What was the point? As long as he used the dregs of a hit to get through the day, he was mostly functional. And he was happy.

The pen in Spencer’s sweaty hand slips from his grasp and falls on the floor. He blinks in surprise, gazing at the ground for a moment before becoming aware of a vaguely uncomfortable sick feeling in his stomach. He sighs, gets up, and faces the couch. He’d been sleeping there since his mom started staying with him. It was also a great place to hide things, because no one ever thought to look there.

Spencer lifts up the cushion and retrieves the vial in a swift motion, gazing behind him at the bedroom door before placing the needle in the top. Once it’s filled to his desired dose, he finds a vein and depresses the plunger, closing his eyes as the clear liquid enters his bloodstream. Within seconds he feels less on edge and his head is clear.

(Not clear in the sense that he is thinking clearly, but clear from the memories that haunt him.)

Before the effect of the drug fully takes over Spencer places the vial back in its designated area, then sinks into the couch. His muscles relax and he smiles. Everything seems slightly dreamlike and unreal, although this dream state was much better than dreaming at night.

The first few moments of the high were the most pleasant but also the least coherent. It takes about twenty minutes for Spencer to come a little closer to reality. He’s definitely still in an altered state of mind, but he is aware of his surroundings.

He notices it’s still dark outside and checks the time: 5:15 a.m. An hour earlier than he normally gets up, he thinks, but he should be able to weather most of the day. Spencer isn’t a naive kid anymore; he doesn’t dare use drugs in a law enforcement building. All he can do is pray the dose is enough for him to get through work before the cravings start. Most of the time it is, and he’s either in a hotel room or on the jet before the worst of it hits.

He’s sown a hidden compartment in the bottom of his go bag and keeps a vial there, stashed in a small felt pouch.

It’s almost funny how he went from being an innocent man to one with a secret that could cost him his job.

But Spencer wasn’t worth anything to the team without it.

He wasn’t worth anything if he could barely concentrate, if sights and sounds were overwhelming, and if everything reminded him of prison. He wasn’t of any use if he couldn’t think on his feet or recall information at a moments notice.

Spencer spends the hours before work reading. It’s a simple pastime, but something he couldn’t do for weeks after his release. He was too anxious to focus on the words. Off his game. The first few cases he was involved in were exhausting. One involved an unsub who slit the throats of his victims, and the pictures reminded Spencer of Luis and triggered a panic attack.

He wasn’t useful to the team like that.

He wanted things to go back to normal.

Spencer told himself the drugs helped.

It’s nearly 6:30 and Spencer’s finished two books in this time. His mother’s caretaker, a young woman named Elizabeth, arrived every morning at seven. She’d suggested placing Diana in a facility when he returned home, but Spencer refused. He could manage. He knew how to cope.

Was it the best way to cope? No, but it worked.

He hears the bedroom door open as he starts his third book. Spencer looks up to see his mother standing and staring at him.

“Hi, Mom,” Spencer says, closing his book. He can already tell she doesn’t recognize him.

She looks around the apartment, clearly confused.

Spencer stands up and approaches her. “You’re in my apartment. It’s me, Spencer, okay?”

Diana’s memory had been getting worse. It took her longer and longer to remember where she was and who people were. There were certain events she forgot completely. Maybe that was a good thing.She couldn’t remember the night she’d been kidnapped. She barely remembered that Spencer had been in prison. It scared him nonetheless. If the threat of nightmares weren’t keeping him awake at night, worrying about his mother was.

“What am I doing here?” She asks.

“You live with me. It...it’s okay if you don’t remember.” Spencer takes the pillow and notebook and puts them on the floor. “Do you want to sit with me? I’m reading this book. Maybe you’ll like it,” he suggests.

Diana slowly walks towards Spencer and sits next to him. He hands her the book.

“What’s it about?”

“Mycology. The study of fungi. It’s really quite fascinating.”

The two sit in silence for twenty minutes, Diana leafing through the book and skimming the pages. It’s peaceful.

Peace. Spencer doesn’t experience it often enough.

He hates being at home now. Spencer has never been the most social person, but being at home meant being alone with himself. It meant being alone with a situation that made him uncomfortable, and with his own mind. He craves going to work almost as much as he craves Dilaudid.

Anything to get away.

7:00 rolls around and there’s a knock on the door. “It’s Elizabeth,” Spencer says as the door opens and she walks in. “I’m going to work now, Mom, but I’ll be back soon.”

Elizabeth smiles and replaces Spencer on the couch. “Good morning, Mrs. Reid. How are you doing today?”

Spencer leaves before he hears her answer.

He locks the apartment door and leaves his problems behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer has a panic attack on a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! This one flows kind of weird but overall I like it. It’s less about Reid’s addiction and more about the ~trauma~. Enjoy :)

He can barely breathe.

He’s dying.

Spencer is sitting on a restroom floor and he’s dying.

He knows—factually—that he’s not dying.

But it definitely feels like it.

He tries to take a breath but it catches in his throat and he sobs.

The overhead lights are overwhelming, so he closes his eyes.

He tries to breathe again but his body opts for hyperventilating instead.

_Why can’t he just breathe?_

He needs to calm down, but he can’t.

Spencer drums his fingers against the tiled floor. The movement is only minimally comforting.

Someone knocks on the door. He flinches at the sudden noise.

“Reid?”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything.

He hears the handle turn and someone enter the room.

“Hey,” Luke sits next to him. “I’m right here, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

___

3 Hours Earlier

“Alright, we’ve got three victims and no connection between them. Different ethnicities, from different states, and of different socioeconomic standings,”Luke said, leaning back in his chair.

Spencer examined the map taped to a small whiteboard. “I’ve tried working on a geographic profile but I can’t pinpoint a central location between each victim’s town.”

The case was in Farmington, New Mexico. Three people—Amelia Reyes, John Kristensen, and Lucille Hearst—turned up dead on a playground with their faces destroyed. Each was from a different state. They’d each been dead for about a month before being disposed of. None had been reported missing.

“This case is all over the place. These people had nothing in common and nothing to do with each other.”

“Maybe they’re victims of opportunity?” Spencer suggested. “The unsub finds each victim in their respective state, brings them to Farmington, and kills them?”

“I don’t think so.” Luke shook his head and looked over the ME reports again. “There’s obvious overkill. You don’t see that level of rage unless our unsub knew the victims personally.”

“Oh, right.”

Spencer knew that. The team had been working this case for almost eight hours now. He’d meticulously read the files over and over again. He should have known this case like the back of his hand. And he had.

The last dose of Dilaudid had worn off half an hour ago, leaving hismind muddled.

Spencer scanned the file in front of him, re-reading the information contained within it. He was starting to have trouble concentrating. “Garcia couldn’t find anything either?”

“Nope,” Luke answered. “But you know her. She’s probably digging deeper right now.”

“This unsub is either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid,” Rossi said as he entered the room. Emily followed behind him. “Finding people in three different states, dropping them in the same place, and leaving without a trace? It’s almost genius.”

Prentiss chuckled. “He’s gotta be pretty smart if he’s got Reid stumped.”

Spencer pretended not to hear the comment, flipping through the papers in front of him. He felt slow. He closed the file and dragged his hands over his face.

He needed a fix.

If he were bolder he would have asked to go to the hotel. Lie and say he forgot something. Come back with his head clear and difficult feelings gone.

“It’s not exactly an easy case,” Alvez said. “We’ve been at this for who knows how long—“

“Eight hours,” Spencer interjected.

“Eight hours, and can’t even deliver a profile.”

Emily sighed, crossing her arms. “Maybe we should turn in early and come back tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

As the few team members gathered their things, the police chief stepped into the small conference room.

“Three more bodies just turned up on another playground,” he announced before slipping out.

The four agents exchanged glances and shuffled into the main area of the precinct. “Tara and JJ just finished interviewing Amelia Reyes’ family,” Prentiss said, pulling out her phone. “I’ll tell them to meet us at the latest crime scene.”

The ride to the playground was short but filled with chatter.

“The first bodies were found a day ago, and now we have three more?” Rossi scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t understand it. He’s got to be holding the victims somewhere close by.”

“Maybe he’s got some sort of underground facility,” Luke said from the driver’s seat. “That explains how he’s able to contain the victims without them getting out and with no one noticing.”

Emily sighed. “I’ll have Garcia look into that.”

“We are really racking up the amount of factors involved in this case,” Rossi said.

“Reid? You’ve been awfully quiet,” Emily observed, turning to face Spencer in the back seat.

Spencer sat up with a start, lifting his head from the cool window he’d been resting against. The conversation was giving him a headache. He was filled with a sort of restless apathy, probably caused by a combination of coming down, exhaustion, and anxiety.

“Um...” Spencer cleared his throat. He could barely think. “I agree. The unsub hiding out underground makes sense.”

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Emily asked.

If he was being completely honest, he wanted nothing more than to go to the hotel and spend the night in a happy daze. But he couldn’t say that.

Spencer nodded. “I’m just tired.”

—

30 Minutes Earlier

“So, we have Deborah Haynes from Arkansas,” Spencer said, circling the location on a map. “John Jones from Montana, and Howard Brown from New Jersey.”

“All from completely different states, again,” Alvez stated, setting down two cups of coffee. The rest of the team was in the main area of the precinct, conversing with the few officers still present that late at night.

Spencer looked over the pictures of the new victims, tapping a marker against his leg. His mind felt gummy.

Alright.

He had to think.

Each person was wrapped in blue cloth and laid limply over playground swings, just like the previous victims. What did playgrounds represent?

Childhood.

Innocence.

But none of the victims had children.

The people were disposed of in groups of three. That seemed significant.

Okay.

Things that involved threes:

The Three Little Pigs. Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Three Blind Mice.

Fairy tales. It connected back to the childhood theory.

Earth is the third planet from the sun.

The three body problem.

Interesting angle but unlikely.

Maybe it was a compulsion?

Something happens and three people have to be murdered.

That made sense.

But why the playground?

Spencer’s mind was running in circles.

It had to mean something. He knew it meant something.

He just didn’t know what.

It was like B-Cap all over again.

Spencer capped the marker and tossed it on the table before sitting down. “This is impossible.”

“Hey. It’s not impossible,” Luke said.

“Yes it is,” Spencer sighed, picking up the marker and squeezing it. “There’s no consistent victimology. The victims are still from different parts of the country and yet somehow end up in New Mexico at the same time. The only consistent thing I have to go on is the manner of disposal and I can’t figure out what it means.”

Luke chuckled. “Well, there’s no need to take it out on the marker.” He took it from Spencer’s hand and tapped it against the table. “Let’s think. This guy is obviously mobile. He’d need a job that allows him to move around quickly.”

“He could be a truck driver.”

“Exactly,” Luke said with a smile.

“There are 3.5 million truck drivers in America. That barely narrows it down.”

“The guy keeps coming back to Farmington. He might live here or be from here. I’ll ask Garcia to find any truckers from the town.”

Spencer closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. “Truckers normally follow routes. It’s highly unlikely that he travels all over the country.”

“It’s still worth a shot.” Luke pushed a coffee in Spencer’s direction. “You look like you could use a boost.”

That was an understatement.

Coffee would probably make him more anxious, but Spencer took a sip anyway, hoping it would silence the voice in his head begging for something stronger.

“What’d JJ And Lewis find out from the interview?” he asked.

Luke shrugged. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Amelia Reyes had no history in Farmington. Her parents weren’t much help; they hadn’t spoken in years.”

“Why’s that?”

“No idea,” Luke smiled slightly. “Not suspicious at all.”

Spencer’s phone buzzed and he slipped it from his pocket. “It’s Garcia,” he announced, placing it on the table face up before answering.

“Hey Garcia. I’m here with Luke.”

“Yes, just the person I wanted to talk to,” Penelope said.

Luke laughed. “You require my specific expertise?”

Garcia scoffed. “No. I was joking. Anyway, this case is a doozy and not in a good way. I do, however, think I may have made things slightly clearer.”

“Do tell.”

“Alright, So. I did some digging, and it turns out all of our victims have one very big thing in common. You’re not going to believe this.” She let the statement hang in the air.

Spencer would have believed anything at this point. He just wanted the case—and day— to be over.

“What did you find?” he asked.

“All of the victims have children.”

“That’s not possible,” Luke said, furrowing his brow.

“But it is. Each kid went to juvie at sixteen and changed their names upon release. Any record of their previous lives were completely hidden. That’s why we couldn’t find them.”

That was oddly specific, Spencer thought. He absently ran his finger over the lip of the coffee cup. He didn’t feel fully engaged in what was happening, like he was watching from the outside.

“There’s more,” Garcia continued. “All the victims’ kids went to New Mexico State University but never finished all four years because they were expelled after being charged with attempted murder.”

“Attempted murder?” Luke echoed, incredulous.

“Yep, apparently they shared a deep-seated hatred for the school janitor. The charges were dropped for all but two students: Edward Harris and Michael Vasquez. I’m sending any information on them to your tablets. One of those guys is probably our unsub.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Luke said and Spencer ended the call.

The new files came through a few moments later. Luke slid the tablet in Spencer’s direction.

“Since you can read way faster than anyone why don’t you look over this, and I’ll update Prentiss?”

Theoretically, it was a good idea. But in the moment Spencer was working at half his normal speed and trying his hardest to feign an air of functionality. He wordlessly took the tablet and began looking over the digital documents.

It took himfive minutes to read them (he could have done it in two).

Most were prison records.

Spencer took another swig of coffee.

He should not be bothered by something like this.

Luke returned to the conference room, bringing the rest of the team with him.

“Find anything helpful?” Emily asked, gesturing in Spencer’s direction.

The presence of more people was slightly suffocating. Spencer tugged at his tie, making a feeble attempt to loosen it.

“Both Edward Harris and Michael Vasquez spent five years in state prison,” he stated. “There are multiple reports of fighting between them, but most of the time Vasquez ended up in the infirmary.”

JJ motioned for Spencer to hand her the tablet, which he did. She scrolled through the information. “His injuries don’t seem like they could have been made by one person,” she pointed out.

“Prison gangs are becoming more and more common. Michael Vasquez could have been a target,” Luke said.

Spencer involuntarily recalled the multiple beatings he suffered at the hands of fellow prisoners. The ghostly feeling of hands pulling and fists hitting him covered his body. Or maybe it was the coffee making him jittery.

“So Harris joined a gang and turned on Vasquez. Now Vasquez is harboring a grudge not only against Harris but everyone else he thinks had it better than him,” Rossi rationalized.

“Vasquez probably went into prison thinking he had a friend and confidant. The betrayal only contributed to his rage.”

_“I helped you because I like you. You're interesting to me.”_

Calvin Shaw’s words echoed in Spencer’s mind.

Betrayal worked in two ways: it could make someone angry, or it could make them terrified.

Spencer clasped his hands together to stop them from trembling. The feeling of his oxygen supply being cut off increased, and so did his heart rate.

People were talking, but Spencer couldn’t hear them. He felt like he was underwater. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and willed the feeling to pass.

_I betrayed people, too_ , Spencer thought. He sees Malcom with blood dripping from his mouth.

He ran a hand over his forehead as if to wipe the memories from his conscious. They reappeared seconds later, and anxiety reared it’s ugly head.

He had to get out.

He shakily stood up, muttered ‘Excuse me’, and rushed out of the room.

__

Spencer bursts into the precinct’s small restroom and stumbles toward the sink. He holds onto the granite countertop like a lifeline, taking a shaky breath and mumbling to himself.

“It’s fine,” he says. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He turns on the sink and glances in the mirror. His reflection swims in front of him and suddenly he’s unbelievably dizzy. Breathing feels weird and the air tastes bad.

Spencer splashes water on his face, then clumsily makes his way to the ground. He feels like he’s seconds away from throwing up orpassing out.

Fortunately (if it could be considered good fortune) he does neither. Spencer unbottons the first button on his shirt, then lets his hand fall limply to the ground. It’s too hot, and every layer of clothing he’s wearing is constricting his skin. But he can barely summon the strength to make himself more comfortable. He’s frozen in an ambiguous terror.

Glimpses of nightmares and prison flit through his head like a twisted movie.

All the memories he’s artificially avoided are rushing back and bringing fear with them.

They settle like an anvil on his chest

He’s used to the malaise that comes when a high wears off.

But it’s never been this bad.

He gasps for air but his lungs don’t take it.

Oh God.

He’s dying.

Spencer is sitting on a restroom floor and he’s dying.

He knows—factually—that he’s not dying.

But it definitely feels like it.

Tears run down his face and blur his vision. He slams his eyes shut because the distorted visual input is sickening. He’s hyper-aware of everything in the small room: the lights, the still running tap, the floor, his own jagged breathing.

Someone knocks on the door. Spencer flinches at the sudden noise.

“Reid?”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything.

He hears the door handle turn and footsteps approach him.

“Hey,” Luke sits next to him. “I’m right here, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

No.

The last thing Spencer needs is for someone to see him like this.

Luke touches his knee and he yelps.

“Sorry. I’m not going to touch you.” Luke says. “I know you’re felling freaked out right now, but you’re safe.”

He was supposed to be safe in prison.

He was supposed to be in protective custody.

He was supposed to be safe from the flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t safe anywhere. Spencer hadn’t felt safe in months.

Luke’s words aren’t as reassuring as they’remeant to be.

Spencer is becoming increasingly lightheaded. An invisible noose tightens around his neck. He paws at his shirt collar and tries to loosen it.

_Why can’t he just breathe?_

He needs to calm down, but he can’t.

“I was thinking, after this case you could come over to my place and see Roxy. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

What?

Why is Luke talking about his dog?

He’s trying to distract him, Spencer realizes.

It’s silly, but it works. There’s a fraction of a second where he isn’t dwelling on the past and managesto inhale weakly.

“Y-Yeah,” Spencer pants. “Sounds nice.”

He attempts to open his eyes.

Luke is sitting a few inches in front of him, saying something about Garcia and Roxy. Spencer tries to keep his eyes on the man in front of him but his vision is spotty. It’s disconcerting and reminds him of the fact that there isn’t enough oxygen in his lungs. Any second of respite he enjoyed vanishes and his breathing picks up again. A wave of nausea overcomes Spencer, and he tries to get up.

“Hey, Reid. Spencer—“

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he forces out in a rush.

He feels strong arms pulling him upwards and as soon as Spencer is aware of where he is, he retches over the sink. Nothing comes up.

He struggles to regain whatever composure he had and leans heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The earth tilts and he closes his eyes, sliding back to the ground.

“Hey, Reid. We’re gonna count to ten, okay? Can you do it with me?”

Luke says the numbers in a cadence, and Spencer follows along in his head.

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

_6_

_7_

_8_

_9_

_10_

He mouths the second round of words.

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

_6_

_7_

_8_

_9_

_10_

“You’re doing great,” Luke says and starts again.

By now Spencer’s found his voice and the two agents count together. It’s a bit like kindergarten.

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

_6_

_7_

_8_

_9_

_10_

Spencer stops and takes a shaky breath.

“Are you feeling any better?” Luke asks.

“A little,” Spencer replies. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, not meeting Luke’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For taking you away from the case.”

Luke smiles sympathetically. “You didn’t do anything, Reid. You had a panic attack. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but...” Spencer sighs. “I should have avoided it. Or dealt with it on my own.”

“Don’t say that,” Luke says, shaking his head. “After I got back from Iraq I was a wreck. It affected me. It still does. You’re not weak for being affected by the things that happened to you. And you’re not weak for needing help to deal with it.”

“I’m not weak,” Spencer repeats to himself.

“Want me to take you back to the hotel?” Luke asks. “We’ll be fine here.”

Spencer bites his bottom lip as tears threaten to fall. He feels shaky and off kilter.

“Yes, please.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team talks about Reid over donuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! This one is a bit happier and shorter than the previous two. It explains the team’s side of things because (unlike in the show) they actually notice something is up.

Penelope stands at the entrance of the bullpen, a box of donuts in her hands.

The first person to walk in is Luke Alvez.

Because of course it is.

A sly smile spreads across his face. “Those for me?” he asks.

Penelope swings the box out of his reach dramatically. “No,” she says. “They’re for everyone. It’s not often we have a successful case, so I thought we should celebrate the occasion.”

“You got that right,” Rossi agrees as he enters. The rest of the team follows behind him.

“Ooh, donuts!” Emily exclaims. Garcia opens the box and Emily takes one. “A little cliche, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Tara says, selecting a donut. Everyone else follows suit. “But it’s better than small town Chinese food.”

Penelope places the box on a nearby desk and takes in the happy group of agents. Her brow furrows as she notices someone is missing.

“Where’s Reid?”

Luke looks behind him, although he knows the younger agent isn’t there. “Oh, right. He went home as soon as we landed. Said he wanted to get back to his mom.”

“Is she doing okay?”

Luke shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked,” he admits. He can’t help but feel slightly guilty.

“He needs to spend more time with her,” JJ says, taking a donut from the box. “Seems like all he’s been doing recently is working.”

“What Reid really needs is some time off,” says Prentiss. “Between here and teaching I’d be surprised if he even sleeps.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but no one can deny that it has a hint of truth.

“Has he seemed off to anyone else?” Garcia asks.

“Now that you mention it, he was pretty quiet on the plane,” Rossi says through a mouthful of donut.

“You sure he didn’t have his nose in a book?” JJ teases.

Rossi smiles slightly and shakes his head. “I don’t think he was reading anything.”

“That is definitely weird.”

“No, no...I’m serious,” Penelope sighs. “He’s been coming in late more and more, and I feel like I barely see him.”

“He has been distant lately. Keeping to himself more than usual,” Lewis agrees.

JJ shrugs. “Taking care of his mom can’t be easy. He’s probably worried about her.”

“She’s got schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s, right?”

JJ nods.

“Damn,” Tara says.

“You know, I think this is the longest I’ve gone without him inviting me to see some obscure old movie,” Rossi jokes.

There are a few scattered chuckles that condense into uncomfortable silence. They’ve all noticed something is going on with Spencer.

“We can’t exactly expect him to be normal,” Luke eventually states. “He’s only been out of prison for what, two months?”

“That sticks with a person,” Rossi says.

“Well, how long is he going to be like this?” Penelope asks. “Weird, I mean?”

Tara shakes her head sadly. “What Reid went through was traumatizing. Part of my job is working with prisoners and some of the things they experience are terrifying.”

“He _stabbed himself_ to get away,” Rossi says, sipping his coffee. “Kid went through hell in there.”

“And he barely caught a break with Cat Adams, his mom. Scratch,” adds JJ.

“He’s showing classic signs of PTSD,” Luke says. “He had a panic attack on a case a couple weeks ago.”

“He did?” Garcia asks. She looks at the faces of her teammates. Clearly this isn’t news to anyone else.

“Yeah,” Luke nods. “He didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push.”

“You didn’t push? You guys are profilers and you didn’t think that if someone has a panic attack there’s probably something wrong?”

“The job takes a toll on all of us at one time or another,” Rossi states, almost dismissively, although there is a hint of remorse in his voice.

“And Spencer isn’t the most open person,” Emily says.

“I know,” Penelope sighs “I’m just worried about him.”

Emily shrugs. “He got reinstated and chose to come back. He seems to think he can handle it.”

“No, Penelope’s right,” Luke replies. “Reid’s going through a lot right now and we can’t expect him to just get over it. Not alone anyway.”

“Right,” Garcia nods. “I didn’t actually expect you to agree with me.” She smiles and playfully punches Luke in the arm. “So, what are we going to do?” she asks.

“How about I try talking to him first?” Luke offers. “I was there when he had the panic attack. It’ll probably be easier for him to open up to me.”

“That makes sense. Because you know me. I have a tendency to come on too strong, or too big, or...but you Agent Alvez, know how to find this area between super serious and super nice...” Penelope trails off, and Luke laughs.

“I helped out with his mom while he was in prison,” JJ says. “I could go by on the weekends, see if he wants a break.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement.

“See, this is good,” Penelope says. “We’re a family, and we have to look out for each other.”

She takes a chocolate donut with rainbow sprinkles from the box and wraps it in a paper towel. “This is Reid’s favorite,” she says, handing it to Luke. “Give it to him, and make sure he knows it’s from me.”

”You know he’ll probably be here tomorrow, right? Why don’t you just give it to him?” Luke asks.

Penelope sighs dramatically. “Don’t try and make this harder than it has to be. You’re giving it to him, alright?”

Luke accepts and smiles. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I made a tumblr! There I’ll be taking writing requests and sharing my cm hot takes. I can’t guarantee I’ll be very active but I’m giving it a shot. Right now I’ve only reblogged a few things and shared very helpful observations like ‘Rossi is so old’. The username is reidstars if you want to give it a follow :)


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